


(underneath your clothes) there's an endless story

by confectionerybrick



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: "perverted"!Amy, Dirty Talk, F/M, Hair-pulling, I guess???, Light voyerism, Marking, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prompt Fic, Spanking, post-2x19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-19 18:21:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3619683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confectionerybrick/pseuds/confectionerybrick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not as though this is purely physical; she knows that. But she hasn't been with anyone since Teddy, and since they broke up she hasn't been able to stop the constant stream of <i>what if</i>s flowing through her mind every time Jake laughs at something she says or looks at her in a certain way. And yeah, maybe she's allowed herself to wonder what would happen if she just went round to his apartment one night and kissed him, out of the blue. She's human. She's a woman.</p><p>The fact that she's seen him stark naked isn't helping to quash those fantasies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(underneath your clothes) there's an endless story

**Author's Note:**

> For Gabby, who prompted: 'Basically, Amy accidentally walks in on Jake in the precinct showers - without his knowledge - and sees that he has a bigger than big piece (little Jake isn't so little) and can't stop thinking about it.'

**_there's the man I chose, there's my territory_ **

Amy smooths down her dress blues for the hundredth time, checking the angle of her hat in the mirror on Gina's desk.

“You look shiny and nervous as always, Santiago,” Gina complains, shooing her away from a stack of requisition files that Amy had nearly knocked over twice. “Please move out of my aura, I have a lot of very important things to do and I can't start when you're being all Bridget the Fidget.”

“You're literally arranging lipsticks on your desk by colour right now,” Amy retorts, frowning. “Wait... can I borrow that pink? I think panic is making me look washed out.”

“I have fifteen different shades here that could technically be classed as pink, so you'll have to be more specific. And anyway, no.”

“Santiago, where is Peralta?”

Amy jumps and turns round; Holt is striding out of his office, hat tucked under his arm. She, Jake and the captain are on their way to receive medals for the drug-smuggling organisation they'd taken down – that is, they're _supposed_ to be on their way. They have to be there in twenty minutes and Jake's nowhere to be seen.

“I don't know, Sir,” Amy answers, standing up straight. “He arrested his subway gunman this morning, but I haven't seen him in half an hour.”

“I'm going downstairs to drop some files off for Detective Davison. Find Peralta and meet me at the car in five minutes.”

Amy nods at Holt as he leaves, and then turns back to Gina desperately.

“Where the hell is he?” she whines, starting to sweat under her hat. “If he screws up this ceremony I'll _murder_ him, and I won't leave any evidence.”

Gina shrugs. “He's probably forgotten his hat and gone home for it. Knowing Jake, that's the best case scenario.”

Amy walks away from Gina's desk before she can say anything else that might give her a heart attack and marches down to the locker rooms on a whim, hoping he's just putting the finishing touches to his uniform and is ready to go. She hammers on the door and shouts his name, but there's no reply.

“I'm coming in!”

Peeking her head round the door, she finds the men's locker rooms – identical to the women's, except smelling a bit more like old cheese – empty. There's a locker open at the end of the unit and Jake's duffel bag on the bench below, the dirtied clothes from this morning's perp chase strewn all over the place. She sighs, frustration bubbling up in her chest, and then hears the sound of muffled music coming from around the corner.

Amy creeps to the end of the room, following the sound to the door with the word SHOWERS stamped above the frosted window. Now that she's closer, she can make out the sound of running water and some intermittent, tuneless singing that accompanies the loud, tinny rap music. She raises a fist and knocks, calling out once more, but there's no response.

She takes a deep breath and pushes open the door.

The cramped room is filled with whorling steam, and she has to squint to see at first. She spots Jake's phone on the sinks to her right, hooked up to some kind of portable speaker. On her left, one shower head out of four is running powerfully – and with wide eyes Amy discovers that the men's showers, unlike the recently renovated ladies' block, does not yet have separate, closed off shower cubicles.

Jake stands partially under the spray, rubbing suds into his hair as he belts out some indistinguishable lyrics, eyes scrunched closed against the soap. He's turned away from Amy, and she can deduce he's been in the shower long enough for the hot water to pound redness into the skin of his wide shoulders, the flush fading a little as it follows the curve of his spine before blooming again on his ass.

Amy's muscles seize up, rooting her to the spot. She knows she should call out and make her presence known so this whole situation doesn't stay completely voyeuristic, but her mouth is going a little dry watching his thighs flex as he shifts on his feet. She's seen him in sweatpants so she already knew he had a rather... _shapely_ behind, but she's still transfixed on his pink cheeks and her heart starts to beat a little faster as she imagines what that soft skin might feel like underneath her fingers.

She realises she isn't really breathing when he ducks his head under the water, rinsing out his shampoo. He turns so he can lean back under the shower head, his neck elongating, and creamy suds trickle down over his chest. She's seen him topless before – just glimpses, for instance when they had to change into a disguise in a rush – but she'd never allowed her gaze to stick out of politeness (plus, she'd never hear he end of it if Jake had caught her staring). His arms are defined and strong, reaching up to help wash the soap out of his hair, and her eyes wander over the thin, dark hair that curls on his chest and forms a line down his stomach. She notices a faint scar running under his ribcage that hadn't been there a few months ago, the puckered skin bold and pink. Before she realises what she's doing, she's following the trail of hair down below his navel, where it thickens around the base of his -

Amy wrenches the door open, hurtling through it, and presses herself to the other side, her morals catching up to her as she claps her hands round her mouth. Amy Santiago is not the type to spy on people in the showers, _especially_ not her male co-workers. She could get in trouble for something like this, and it would seriously damage her career if this ever came out. Adrenaline is pumping through her as the last part of her partner's anatomy she'd laid eyes on flashes before her eyes, and she scrunches them shut.

_Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about it._

But it's hard not to think about it, because she can't stop a slideshow playing in her mind; comparing him to ever man she'd ever been with, she can't help noting that Jake is the most... well-endowed. By a long way.

The sound of running water suddenly halts, and she comes to her senses. She remembers Holt's deadline and the ceremony, and bangs furiously on the door.

“Jake! We've got two minutes until we have to meet Holt in the car!”

The music stops, and a few seconds later the door flings open. Jake has a towel wrapped low round his hips and Amy very carefully keeps her eyes trained on his face, though that isn't exactly helping matters – he's beautifully flushed, water dripping off his nose, his lips red and glistening and his curls roughly towelled. Amy can feel the heat steaming off his bare chest.

“What? Sorry, couldn't hear you over the music.”

“Two minutes. Holt. Car. Medals,” she utters, throat dry. His collarbone is glistening. “Get dressed!”

“Yes, ma'am,” he salutes, grinning. “You'll just have to let me past, though.”

Amy blinks at him, then gasps. “Oh! Yeah... sorry.”

They hurry back through to the main changing area and Amy makes a beeline for the door, trying desperately to regain control of her breathing. 

_Come on, Amy._

“I'll meet you downstairs,” Jake calls, pulling things out of his locker. “Oh, and Santiago?”

She pauses, half out the door, and looks at him.

“Don't go snooping round in the men's locker rooms. You might see something you like.”

He winks, because of course he does, and she rolls her eyes and bustles back to the bullpen, pink in the cheeks.

–

He may as well be tattooed to the inside of her eyelids.

She spends the ceremony constantly on edge, completely aware of Jake next to her, hair still in relative disarray due to his speedy exit from the showers. Afterwards, the captain takes them all to Shaw's for drinks, so she doesn't even have casework to distract her from the afternoon's events.

She accepts a whiskey from Holt, and listens to Boyle and Gina describe their first official family meal as step-siblings. She loses to Rosa twice at pool but surprisingly enough beat the Sergeant, who buys her a Manhattan as a prize. When Jake steps up to challenge her with a confident smirk, she _definitely_ doesn't look too long whenever he bends forward over the table to take a shot.

“Distracted, Santiago?” He cocks an eyebrow when she misses an easy pocket shot. He nudges her gently out of the way to take his turn; she can smell some kind of juniper soap or shampoo she'd detected earlier in the bathroom, sticking in her nose and making her shiver, like black pepper.

“Nuh-uh. Budge.”

She pushes at him this time, and he just watches her, unreadably amused by something. She takes her time lining up the last shot of the game, not drunk enough that her balance is affected but tipsy in the way that fills her with a pleasant buzz, and feels him get steadily closer, leaning into the edge of her gaze and trying to put her off.

It isn't going to work. It _isn't._

It's just that he's so _warm._

“What? No!”

Amy punches the air as she pots the black, laughing at the stricken expression on Jake's face. A bubble of victorious excitement bursts inside her, and she crowds his space, ecstatic. “Santiago wins! Next round's on you; suck it, Peralta!”

She throws the cue down a little too forcefully and he jumps, putting a hand out to try and steady her. “I think you might have had enough, Overconfident Amy.”

“You been counting?”

It's just teasing, but his face shifts in a way that makes her pause.

“We both know that if you have another one, I'm gonna have to make sure you get home okay, and the extra cab fare from your place to mine is more than I can afford.”

There's a touch of sincerity to him she doesn't expect; she forgets that it's there sometimes, just nestled below the surface.

She wonders if his handling of obstacles in their personal relationship would have been different, say, a year ago. It was rarer, then, to elicit rational and sensitive behaviour from him – though not impossible by any stretch. Would he still have treated her admission of feelings towards him as he did now, with respect and only gentle, occasional teasing? He's been on the receiving end of that, twice now, if what she heard about his breakup with Sophia is anything to go by.

Something warm fills her chest, and as she looks back at Jake, he shifts on his feet. Amy's starkly reminded of seeing him move that way with much less clothing, and that warmth turns to a developing hunger. This sort of thing happens more than Amy would care to admit; he'd be leaning over her as she interrogated a perp, adding an extra level of intimidation, and his breath ticking the top of her head would distract her from her work. They'd be keeping watch in an undercover vehicle, and suddenly there'd be a lull in conversation and Amy would scrabble for something to say to stop her mind wandering. She'd be talking brightly about how she figured out a lead, or how she finally learned to roast a ham properly or how Holt complimented her on her paperwork - and Jake would smile, warm and genuine, setting something off in the air before one of them did something to dissipate the tension.

Amy can't take much more.

She sidles up to him, sliding two fingers into his front pocket and pulling out his wallet. She drags her eyes down from Jake's stunned face, surprised at her own daring and the fact that he isn't stepping back or stopping her. She rifles through the battered leather wallet, finding a twenty, two old train tickets, a condom, a few Canadian pennies and a boiled candy. She pulls out the note and tucks the wallet back into his jeans, scraping her fingernails over the denim. The air between them could solidify and shatter.

“I think this'll be enough,” she says, and saunters over to the bar to order another whiskey.

\--

Later, he and Rosa help her into a cab and her eyes start to droop closed from being awake for twenty straight hours. She's sandwiched between both of them, vaguely listening to them poke fun at her, when she starts to drift in and out of a snooze.

There's a bang, and she suddenly finds she's cold on one side. Rosa's gone. Amy's neck is cricked, cheek resting against something soft.

“Jake.”

“Hey, I thought you were asleep.”

She grunts, waving an arm. It's heavy in sleepiness, so she lets it fall against a leg that isn't hers. She blinks though the darkness, shifting against him so she can see better; passing headlights and neon signs throw his face into colour, playing over his lips and sparking in his eyes.

Her hand grips his thigh as she pushes herself a little more upright, and when the flashbacks from the locker room come hurtling back to her (like they haven't stopped doing all day) she's suddenly aware of what's underneath the denim. She doesn't remove her grip.

It's not as though this is purely physical; she knows that. But she hasn't been with anyone since Teddy, and since they broke up she hasn't been able to stop the constant stream of _what if_ s flowing through her mind every time Jake laughs at something she says or looks at her in a certain way. And yeah, maybe she's allowed herself to wonder what would happen if she just went round to his apartment one night and kissed him, out of the blue. She's human. She's a woman.

The fact that she's seen him stark naked isn't helping to quash those fantasies.

She cares for him, she does. She feels, when she's around him – that tightness in her belly, that upward tug at the corner of her mouth. 

She wants to feel it all.

“What happens now?” she whispers into his shoulder.

His breath flutters her hair, hesitant.

“Well, I pay the driver, I walk you to your apartment and stop you throwing up all over your quilts, and then I walk home because I'm only gonna have a few cents left.”

Amy sighs, amused and exasperated, and thumps his knee. 

“No, Jake.” She sits up properly this time, hips tilted towards his and head propped up with a raised arm. “I meant... things are different between us now. Right?”

He looks at her like he's drinking her in, assessing, calculating. She moves her hand from her head to his, a sole finger playing with a tuft of hair that's sticking up at the front. She wonders how it might feel to grip it tight, or run her whole hand through the back to the nape of his neck.

The cab stops with a jolt, and Jake snaps his head away to look at the meter. He digs his wallet back out and pays, and Amy's breathing is light, heart pumping furiously. The alcohol is starting to wear off; she feels more coherent and clear-headed as they get out of the cab and walk up to her building through the biting spring night, cursing as it starts to rain.

“Let me give you something for a cab to your place,” she mumbles as they reach her door, keys scratching for entrance in the lock. “I feel bad that I won all your money.”

“No, you rifled through my wallet and bought cocktails with the contents,” he corrects, leaning against the door frame. “And then you came back for the candy I was saving for emergencies. But, like, seriously Amy, don't worry about it. It's not that long a walk.”

“Don't be stupid, you live like an hour an a half away.”

“I'm an officer of the law, I think I can handle myself,” he jibes in a low voice, and she sighs.

They eventually manage to get in, the apartment dimly lit in a pale sheen by the moonlight thrown in through the windows. Normally she'd be embarrassed at the state of her living room – there's washing hanging out everywhere because the dryer is broken – but when she was investigating him and his claims of sabotage two weeks ago she saw things growing in his apartment that definitely weren't supposed to be, so she knows he hasn't the right to pass judgement on her.

Amy kicks off her shoes and goes to her room, finding her other purse and scratching through it - but she finds nothing but singles and cents. “God dammit.”

“It really is fine, Santiago.”

He smiles, shifting on his feet against her coffee table. She _wished_ he wouldn't keep doing that. The light paints his hair with streaks of blue, the rest of him silhouetted against her lace curtains.

“Stay here.”

It's like she hears herself say it from someone else's perspective. Her throat is tight, and she mirrors the way his hands curl in his jacket pockets. She steps forward so she can see his face properly, until she's only a few inches from him.

“Amy...”

She feels a lightness come over her, triggered by the curious way he's staring; his gaze is loaded with every suggestion that their constant denials are false, and what they have between them is very much still in the present, whatever that may be. She's sick of the tension, sick of feeling like someone who spends so much time around her every day seems perpetually out of her grasp. She has fuzzy memories of drunken, carefree dancing at Lynn and Darlene's wedding, and not so fuzzy ones of water dripping off his nose. It suddenly dawns on her that this thing between her and Jake, this bond that's been winding and stretching and growing around them - it doesn't have to be as complicated as they're making it. 

“Don't tell me you don't feel it,” she blurts. “Just... _don't_.”

Amy watches Jake's neck move as he swallows. Her hand leaves her pocket and trails lightly over his leather jacket under the pretence of wiping away a rain droplet; her finger traces the place where underneath his clothes, she knows she'd find that long, thin scar.

“Okay.”

She pauses. “Okay?”

“Okay, I won't tell you,” he clarifies, his voice raw. “But I need you to tell me where you are. Where we are. What you want.”

She meets his eyes, her hand crawling up to rest on his shoulder.

“You. I want you. Now.”

And then Jake's in her space, frantic hands pulling her into him as some kind of restraint snaps within him. She finally tastes his kiss and it's fresh and exhilarating, like the rain pounding against the windows outside. He hums against her and she whimpers into his mouth.

Amy's hands are in his hair, her whole body pressing into him. They stumble around until they hit a hard surface, pushing and pulling insistently as though they're desperate to outdo the other in a struggle for control. Jake's hands are tight on Amy's hips while hers roughly unzip his jacket and his hoodie, the garments slumping to the floor, and when she finally finds warmth under that cold leather it she buries her head in his neck, nipping and tasting and finding that spicy taste of his aftershave on her tongue. His head hits the wall behind him, and she traverses the open expanse of skin up under his jaw, heart in her mouth. Adrenaline is commanding her need to claim, to be claimed.

Jake pushes Amy's jacket from her shoulders and frames her face with his hands, directing it back up to his. She runs her palms up his arms, feeling the solid shapes she'd so admired in the shower at the start of this everlasting day, and he spins her round forcefully to crowd her against the wall, eliciting a gasp of surprise from her and a small chuckle of victory from him. He's so firm and warm against her she can barely breathe, unable to tear her lips away from his drugging kiss.

“Tell me what you want,” he repeats in a low mumble, and the tone of his voice intoxicates her.

“Mm. This. You,” Amy verifies, sliding a palm under his shirt at the back. She leans forward to taste his lips again, but he pulls back slightly and pins her to the wall by her shoulder. She keens, and he chuckles.

“No, Amy. I mean... tell me what you _want_.”

He has a look in his eyes she's never seen before; it's dark, playful and affectionate all at once, his wide pupils licking at his irises, lit by the window behind her. They flit over her face, his palm moving up her neck to cup her jaw, a thumb stroking her cheek. She purses her lips under the meaty part of his palm, and as his face relaxes into something akin to disbelief, that small kiss feels like the most intimate thing they've done so far.

“We don't have to... you know. Tonight.”

Amy pauses, touched by his gesture.

“I appreciate the out, but, uh...” She moves her fingertips in small circles on his lower back, feeling goosebumps and trying to put the maelstrom of feelings inside her into words. “I haven't been able to get you out of my mind all day. I mean, I've been thinking about you, y'know, like this – romantic styles – since that night you got fake fired, but...”

He's intrigued; Amy looks up into his eyes, and finds breath a little hard to come by. She takes the plunge.

“This morning? In the showers? I saw... a little more than I intended to.”

Jake blinks. And then he blinks again.

“So, you were spying on me, Amy?”

“No!” She wriggles in his grip, flustered, but she can't stop an embarrassed smile breaking out as she tries to avoid his eyes. “I just – you obviously couldn't hear me through the door so I – I thought there'd be cubicles and I -”

He's got that shit-eating grin plastered over his face, the one he usually gets when he finds out some kind of dirt on her. 

“So, you thought you'd cop a look while I had shampoo in my eyes.”

Her mouth hangs open in outrage, but she can't deny it. “Fine. Yes, I did. I'm a pervert, are you happy?”

He laughs openly and she huffs, heat colouring her cheeks. The charged frenzy between them has given way to something more familiar but no less pleasant, laced with soft giggles and easy affection.

“I was trying to seduce you just then,” she sighs.

Jake smirks, dipping his head. “You're cute when you're all wound up.”

He kisses her, chaste this time, light like confectioner's sugar on her lips. 

“So, it worked, right?”

“Mm-hm.”

She opens for him, pulling him to her by neck and waist, and it doesn't take long for their kisses to become desperate and almost savage again, tight and biting and deep. Amy's fuelled by the knowledge that she hasn't been able to do this for months and months, and now she wants it all, and wants it to last. The sensation of being sandwiched between Jake's entire body and the wall is exhilarating; his torso is steady and reassuring under her touch, his jaw rough on her lips and his grip strong, like he could effortlessly press her into the mattress. She shivers at the thought.

When she pauses for breath he pushes a thigh between hers, and she gasps at the pressure. His eyes light up at her reaction.

“So, did you like what you saw?” Jake teases, and for once Amy isn't going to let this be a joke on her part. She gathers herself and smirks, eyes lazily wandering over his rumpled t-shirt and kiss-bruised lips.

“I was a little surprised at what was hidden under all that plaid,” she drawls, in a low voice she's picked up from watching romantic dramas with Kylie. “But I have to admit, after seeing that Little Peralta isn't so little... I can't stop thinking about it. I - I mean, uh, you. You.”

Jake swallows thickly, and Amy hides a small moment of victorious glee. Her words have the precise reaction she'd been hoping for, and once Jake recovers from his small stunned moment he kisses her like she's his only source of oxygen. She groans into him as he runs his hands over her ass, round her hips, up her thighs. He untucks her blouse, which all of a sudden feels far too tight, and slides a hand down the front of her trousers and into her panties, finding her wet and aching for him. He moans approvingly into her, and her breath hitches as she feels his fingers slide down and through her folds.

“You want me so bad,” he whispers, but it feels more like a question.

“Told you,” Amy replies, eyes fluttering closed as his fingers stroke slowly, slowly. The way his arm is bent is awkward, and so she removes it and pushes back off the wall, walking him blindly backwards, stumbling a little when his calves hit the coffee table. She paws at his clothes, pulling that godforsaken blue plaid down his arms – why does he always wear so many layers? - and tugging at his undershirt with trembling fingers. “You're not naked enough.”

He laughs as she rips it over his head, rejoining their lips as they reach her bedroom. She pushes him down onto the comforter and takes all his upper body as her own – her hands and tongue finally get to discover his thick shoulders, his tight chest, and Amy's quickly decided-upon favourite part: the small, soft pudge of his lower belly, where she can grab the skin with her teeth and suck. Her fingers find the indentation of his scar, and the muscles of his abdomen shift under her touch. She remembers the flush of desire she felt watching water flow over this stretch of skin hours ago, and Jake gasps and yelps as she sucks a hickey just above the waistband of his jeans.

He pulls her up and flips them over, deftly unbuttoning her shirt and mouthing over her chest, his hot breath steaming over her collarbone. The blouse and bra are lost to some dark corner of the bedroom, and Amy feels a thrill of anticipation as her slacks, shoes and socks go the same way. His hands slide up the underside of her thighs as he shifts between them, hair in disarray and eyes on her face as his gun-calloused fingers inch closer to her sex.

He makes a soft grunt of satisfaction as he pulls off the damp lace, and then his mouth is on her. Amy doesn't realise she's been holding her breath until it comes out in skittered gasps, and she relaxes her muscles and sinks down into the mattress as Jake's hands curl on her legs. She watches the mess of brown waves dip and nuzzle at her as his stupid, wide mouth gets to work, until she can't keep her neck bent that way any more. She's alight at her core, the wondrous sensation of smooth tongue and contrasting stubble filling her with a craving for more of his masculinity. She thinks about Jake's smug grin, his nervous smile, that rare, genuine giggle that comes out when he's really tickled by something. She thinks about all the ways she wants him, has wanted him for a while, and how they have all night – and if she's lucky, a long time to come after that.

His tongue suddenly laps hard at her clit and her abs tighten, thighs clamping round his head as she cries out, jarringly loud in the quiet apartment.

“I believe you were telling me what you wanted from me,” Jake mumbles, flicking his eyes upwards as Amy props herself up on her elbows to watch him, panting. He's looking at her like she's sometimes caught him doing in the bullpen, or in the field, when he thinks she isn't noticing – but now, it's filtered with lust, and it's devastatingly beautiful.

“Keep going,” she pleads, and so he does. Her rough breathing evolves into helpless moans as he keeps up the steady pressure, nipping and rubbing alternating with soft kisses and praises. She's vaguely aware of one of his hands leaving her hip and traversing between her thighs.

“Fuck, Amy,” he mutters into her skin as he pushes two fingers into her, before resuming the rhythm he'd built up with his tongue. Her eyes squeeze shut as she listens to the pleased sounds coming from his throat, feeling him curl and flex his fingers inside her, stretching her. He takes his time, responding to her noises and movements, the way his name blends into gasps and whimpers. He's being careful, she realises, almost holding back with his hands as though he's scared of breaking her - unlike the frenzied, hungry need to touch each other in the living room. It's a slow build, a gentle nursing of her pleasure; it's gorgeous and teasing and vexing all at once. Just like him.

“J-Jake,” she stutters as he curls his fingers, her short breaths peppered with _oh_ s and _ah_ s. “I want... I n-need...”

She can't get much more of a complicated sentence out after that; his name clings to her tongue and she loses all memory of what she was going to say, both of her hands rooting in his hair. She comes loudly, back arched and hands grappling at the sheets.

Everything's muted, dulled. She's aware of Jake kissing up the centre of her chest, two fingers nudging at her lips. She sucks herself off his digits, and when she groans (just to play with him) she sees his jaw stiffen.

“Take off your pants.”

He grins crookedly, sitting up to oblige her, and she watches him unbuckle his belt painfully slowly. There's a whoosh and a clunk as it hits the floor and then her hands are on his jeans, rushing him out of his clothing. Her mouth goes a little dry when his erection is freed from his navy boxers, and she reaches out to finally touch it, heart hammering.

Jake's eyes flutter closed at her touch, but then he's pushing her back down, hot skin sticking and his hardness pressed into the crease of her thigh.

“Fuck,” he mumbles almost deliriously into her lips. “You feel so... _shit_.”

She pulls back, amused. “I feel shit?”

Jake frowns gently, trying to recall his words. “No!” he laughs. “Amazing. You feel amazing. You're beautiful when you come. You're beautiful, full stop.”

She tastes like indulgence on his mouth, the remnants of her pleasure still there. They kiss and giggle and roll until they're too breathless and desperate to laugh any longer, and Amy's hands end up pinned above her head with just one of Jake's, the other on her hip while he teases a nipple with his tongue. 

She wriggles, eyes flicking over his busy mouth as she wraps her legs round his hips. “Come _on_. Please.”

“Mmm, I love it when you beg, Santiago,” he rumbles. “Do it again.”

She huffs in frustration, trying to use her anchor on his body to grind against him, to no avail. She's waited too long for this, and she hates that he's not making it easy.

“ _Please_ , Peralta,” she whines, every phoneme of his surname enunciated slowly, wrought in the back of her throat. He releases her breast with a vulgar pop, instead lurching forward to bite her bottom lip. She flexes her captured wrists under his much larger hand and gasps between sloppy kisses. “Fuck. Just fuck me, please.”

She's a little taken aback at her own boldness, but she visibly gets his attention. She likes the way his breath hitches, how his cheeks flush, that she can captivate him with five small words. 

“There's no need to swear,” he comments, struggling to hide a grin, but doing nothing to let up.

She can only wriggle against him, desperate for friction.

“I want you so bad, wanted you for so long,” she growls as he watches her, inches away and eyes stuck in an enraptured stare. “Want you to – _ah_ – make me ache when I sit down at my desk tomorrow. Want you to fuck me until I forget my own name, you're so god damn big, so perfect, just please, Jake, _please_ -”

He rewards her babbling speech with a strong kiss then shifts, much to her relief. He reaches down with his free hand to slide the head of his cock through her folds, teasing her clit and gathering up her wetness, then down to guide himself into her. She flinches a little at the burn and he stops only a fraction of the way, concern on his face.

“You alright?” he asks, releasing her rapidly numbing hands and brushing hair out of her eyes. “I'm sorry, I-”

His expression makes Amy think he's hurt girls before, and it's so vulnerable and guilty that it makes her determined to push past the pain as quickly as possible.

“Yeah,” she breathes, using a newly freed hand to cup his cheek. She trusts him. “Yeah, keep going.”

He builds her up slowly, using every bit of his self-restraint to only go deeper when she's not aching too much, eyelids fluttering and half-formed praises whispered to her with every inch. He kisses her through every hurt gasp, every panicked stop, every whimper and curse. They flex and respond to one another, shifting and changing to find the right angle, and by the time he fills her Amy can barely breathe and it's so much effort to keep her eyes on his rosy face, sweat curling the soft hairs on his temples.

She nods and he starts to move; after an indeterminable about of time the stinging stretch is largely swallowed by the overwhelming sensation of him rocking into her, smooth pleasure filtering through the ache. She inhales the scent of his aftershave, the one that's been driving her crazy all day; the faint trace of whiskey on both their breaths, the taste of her still between them. Her curious thumb moves over his lips and he darts his tongue out to taste it. When he changes angle slightly she hisses, drawing a concerned expression from Jake. He misunderstands.

“Mm. No, like that,” she reassures him. He hits the same spot again and she cries helplessly into his shoulder, clutching him as he moves slowly, withholding. “Faster, Jake, yes. Come on.”

He nudges her nose with his as she tightens her thighs round him, angling for a kiss. She's touched by the care he's taking because of his size, but it's not what she needs right now. She takes his lips hungrily, moaning into them, one hand slipping down to his ass to finally squeeze it. She pulls her hand back and smacks him sharply, and he gives a surprised squeal.

“Oh, so you're into that, are you?” he mumbles inquisitively into her ear, nipping the lobe and quickening her heartbeat. “Never would have thought it of you, Santiago.”

The suddenly deep tone of his voice furthers her hunger, and she presses his head into her neck. He sucks and bites at the skin, and Amy isn't usually so into hickeys due to them being visible at work but tonight, the thought of having a physical reminder of Jake on her is a huge turn on. He hums as he marks her, a heavy hand exploring her ribs, moving up to cup her breast. The other arm is restricted in movement as it holds his weight, elbow tucked beside her ribcage, and he makes a frustrated grunt at not being able to touch her with it, pushing off her.

Her ankles slip from his lower back as he moves, and he grabs her at the waist and flips her over to her front effortlessly. She turns to smirk back at him, letting him know she's on board by climbing up to her hands and knees and slowly swaying her hips from side to side. His eyes glint back at her and he makes a soft noise of appreciation, hands running slowly up her thighs before smoothing over the round globes of her ass and gripping her hips. She shivers, desperate for him to be back inside her.

She doesn't have long to wait; he takes her roughly this time, thrusting hard and fast before pulling out slowly, teasing her. She draws out a soft _ahh_ , loving the torturous feel of him sliding in and out, and cries sharply when he suddenly spanks her, the sting running through her like electricity.

“That all you got?” she taunts, tossing her hair over one shoulder as she strains to watch him. 

He laughs, tilting his head with an expression akin to that one Amy notes when they're trying to best each other at something, then bites down on his lip as he sinks back into her. He raises his hand leisurely as he retreats before bringing it down, slapping her again in the same spot, harder this time and leaving his hand there to squeeze and massage her sore flesh. She calls out, leaning into the ache of him manipulating her taut, quivering muscle. She keeps her eyes on him, challenging him, and it's all he needs to grip her hips properly and tug her back, his snapping forward and into her.

She gasps, eyes slipping shut, and makes a noise that's infinitely more pornographic that she ever remembers making before. She tightens round him as he moves, quickening his pace, pushing her to her limits. Her ears are full of the sound of his ragged breathing and their skin slapping together with his forceful thrusts, working together to make her throb. His fingernails are carving painful crescents into her skin, hard enough to bruise; he's possessive, abrasive, and it's everything she's been craving. She reaches out an arm to brace herself against the headboard, her left hand reaching back to close over his. “Yes, _yes_. Fuck, Jake, keep going.”

He groans, squeezing her flesh again with his spare hand before allowing his fingers to meander over the rest of her skin, eventually gathering her hair in a messy fist and pulling back gently. Amy feels a drop of sweat run down her temple as exertion starts to hit her; she falls to her shaking elbows on the quilt and her legs slip a little further apart, allowing her to reach back and circle her clit with one hand, feeling herself building up for release again. Her neck twinges from where Jake bit her, and she chokes on his name when he finds her g-spot again _one, two, three_ in quick succession and she comes, pulsing and hot around him. She whimpers and pants into her bedding, feeling ecstatic, alive, free.

She wants to see him, watch him, so she falls fully flat into the mattress and Jake follows her without missing a beat, his whole form pressing her down and squashing the breath from her. She stretches her neck back to find him there, lips hot and greedy but not quite able to meet. His eyes are dark and heavy, a full flush on his cheeks as he watches her moan and writhe underneath him. The wet curls of his hairline brush her temple, and she reaches back to clutch his thick hair.

“You know how good you look? How fucking tight you are on my cock?” he growls darkly, moving back to nibble at her neck, hips still moving to fill her. “So fucking good, better than I ever dreamt, Jesus, Amy...”

His mouth drops sloppy kisses at her nape, exerted, choked moans released with them as he fucks her into the mattress. She's nearly sobbing, short of breath, broken encouragements barely articulated as she moves her pelvis as best she can, grinding against him and the duvet. He wraps a strong arm round to grip the hands buried in her sheets, biting down on her shoulder then sucking his imprints. She feels herself gear up again, that tidal wave of pleasure rushing and rearing as he pounds into her, smooth and strong and flawless, and its all she can do to bury her head down and cry his name into the thick, damp fabric. 

“C'mon, I know you can come again... Come for me, Amy, I'm so damn close... shit, you're perfect, feel so good, come one last time for me, yeah...”

His commands whispered into her neck finally tip her over the edge; she pushes back into him until it hurts, wanting as much of him as she can take, cresting with a strangled scream. Her body convulses, white hot from head to toe as her neck snaps back and she's momentarily blind to everything that isn't raw sensation. She flops back down and reaches back to stroke Jake's hair again as he thrusts erratically, and he comes shortly afterwards with a guttural moan swallowed by her skin.

Every nerve ending feels inflamed, on edge. She lies still until her breathing starts to become normal again, Jake rearranging the covers over them and looking like he's just run a good few miles. He turns his head with an almost bashful smile, reaching out for her, and for the first time in a long time Amy has no regrets. 

–

The first of Amy's alarms goes off at six thirty, causing Jake to protest with a loud lament and flailing a heavy hand about, blindly groping for the source of the noise. Amy yawns her way out of dreamless sleep, moving the arm that she finds draped across Jake's bare chest, and leans over him to turn off the siren. He sleepily grips her in place when she tries to roll off him, and her stomach swoops when he kisses her nose, her forehead, her temple. Her thighs twist as she secures herself against him, and she feels the slick evidence of last night's pleasure still between her legs.

When her last alarm sounds at quarter to seven she's pulling him into her bathroom. He massages shampoo into her hair as she blows him under the steaming shower spray, finally getting to live out the fantasy she'd developed the day before. She loves the weight of his cock on her tongue, and she tells him as much between obscene, steaming kisses. He eats her out in return and she almost slips on the tile as she comes, watching the water darken his hair and rain over his scratched shoulders.

“Do we really have to go in today?” Jake whines later, pulling on his jeans. “I feel like having your own award ceremony merits a day off.”

Amy pulls on a polo neck, hiding the vicious looking bruises on her neck that send a bristle of excitement down her spine. “I think it would be a bit suspicious if neither of us showed up for work. And if anyone warrants a day off, it should be me.” She shifts gingerly on her chair, wincing, and Jake smirks.

“I didn't hear any complaints about pain last night,” he mumbles teasingly, wrapping his arms round her and mouthing over the bruises under her sweater. “In fact, I seem to recall you begging me for it... and you fucking loved it.”

“Don't get cocky.” Amy grins, leaning into his embrace as he trails kisses up her neck. “We're already incredibly late.”

“So?”

She bats at him, standing up and reaching for her jacket. “So, I know you're used to being scolded for rolling in at half-nine, but I am _always_ on time.”

“Wrong,” he groans, back popping as he stretches. “Remember that time you were held up at the bank? Oh, the worry, the shame, the scandal!”

She fails to hide a smirk, glancing at her watch. She's leaving her bed dirty and unmade, and she'd really rather be crawling back into it with Jake – but today's Friday, which leaves the possibility of the whole weekend stretched out in front of them.

Before Amy can unlock the door, Jake snatches her car keys away and presses her back to it as he kisses her, leisurely and delicate. She squirms under him, giggling, torn between head and heart.

“Do you want me to take the subway?” he asks, stroking her hip. She stutters, unable to form a coherent answer with his lips on her jaw. “It's alright, I'm not going to be offended or anything. I'm not expecting you to do a Gina and stride in, announcing what an amazing lover I am to the entire precinct.”

She punches him lightly as he moves back, a soft smile blooming on his face.

“It's not that I want to hide this – us – I mean, I'm not embarrassed, or anything,” she gabbles, exhaling deeply. “But I just... could do without everyone gossiping and interfering, at least for a few weeks. Until we figure out – you know, whatever this is. I mean, if that's what _you_ want.”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan - I'm really not up for Charles trying to give me sex advice again, especially with regards to you,” he nods, wrinkling his nose. “And... I do want. This. I mean, I'm not great at feelingsy stuff but... last night was like, _woah_. And I think if anything is a sign that we should give us a shot, then... that most definitely counts.”

Amy smiles, and he releases her from his grasp so she can open the door. It's already eight thirty, but she doesn't really care. She's got memories to to last her the day, and the promise of so much more to come.

“So tonight, then? My place?”

“Tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> That comment Amy makes about Jake in sweatpants - if you've watched [Hot Rod](http://media.tumblr.com/f01d11bcba47c8fb2b92d84c077de2ef/tumblr_inline_nixaoj4Rbt1qzyvhx.png) then you'll know what she's talking about.
> 
> This wasn't beta'd so apologies for any mistakes, I'd love a heads up if you spot any. Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> And yeah, this is named after that Shakira song, because I spent most of the time writing it listening to that song on repeat. Fight me.


End file.
